


ich brauche dich noch nicht (I don’t need you yet)

by orphan_account



Series: partial differential equations [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cheating, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Smoking, Starbucks, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seungcheol is insufferably obtuse and doesn’t have his priorities sorted out. Seungkwan is the unlucky barista at the Starbucks across campus who has to watch him fall in and out of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ich brauche dich noch nicht (I don’t need you yet)

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke, literally. I was just like 'What if Seungkwan helps Seungcheol get Jeonghan lmao 1/2 jk' but I started writing it and the mood kinda just… went all over the place? I also haven't been in uni for four months (long story) so I kinda miss all the stress. (I start school again in two days, wish me luck!!!) THERE IS MATHS AND PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE THROWN IN I'M SORRY ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ
> 
> Anyway, the mood has been largely dictated by Roland Barthes' 'A Lover's Discourse', to the point where I was like 'yo wtf I shouldn't be writing 2Seung for this' but lmao here it is. It's… different. Hope you enjoy? haha
> 
> Also, unintentionally, this story parallels One Direction's 'Happily', which also happens to be my favourite One Direction song.

Seungkwan shows up at campus two weeks before classes start so he could supply the professors with their venti brewed coffees and ice on the side—all so he could butter them up and decide who he’d like to get as potential professors based largely on tips and who were nice enough to greet him while they were on their phones. The plan works (to an extent, because the nice professors were almost always in really out there departments like ethnomusicology or Nordic studies), and he finds himself enrolling in some nice molecular and cell biology, neurobiology, and genetics classes as well as in some GEs that needed filling by the time first semester rolls around. The professors remember him, but hopefully not as the annoying Starbucks barista.

Now that the first day was mostly done, except for night classes, students were able to come in and flood the damn place instead of just getting their cups to go. After punching in the third grande chocolate chip Frappuccino with extra whip in a row, Seungkwan feels a little bit like suggesting something else, like maybe a mocha if they’re all so fucking starved for sickeningly sweet drinks. (Seungkwan gets hazelnut lattes all the time, so he knows what it’s like to have a sweet tooth, but, really, Frappuccinos are gross shit.) 

Seungcheol Choi walks in and orders a venti americano, so Seungkwan takes it upon himself to stop him.

“Homework already?” Seungkwan asks him incredulously, eyebrow raised. Most professors don’t even bother showing up on the first day, let alone pile them with work, though there were key people who totally broke that unspoken eleventh commandment. 

Seungcheol grimaces. “I have a meeting with my thesis adviser at seven,” he tells Seungkwan.

Seungkwan makes a face—albeit, emphatic—to match Seungcheol’s. “Ew. But let’s keep it at a tall, so you don’t, like, shit all over your roommate at three am, ‘kay?”

Seungcheol shrugs. It doesn’t occur to Seungkwan until that moment that Seungcheol isn’t smiling at all. “Whatever, man, you know I trust you,” he says, and hands Seungkwan his Starbucks card.

“Have you eaten?”

“Gonna grab pizza after.”

Nodding, Seungkwan punches in Seungcheol’s order and drums his fingers on the counter while waiting for the system to process. “What’s with the attitude, huh? Something shitty happened over the summer?” He briefly wonders if he’s being too forward about it, so he adds, “You don’t have to tell me,” just in case.

“Everything’s shit,” Seungcheol admits. “Being here just makes it worse, you know?”

The machine’s done with Seungcheol’s card so Seungkwan hands it back. “Whoa, why so melodramatic?” He doesn’t want to admit the comment catches him off guard; blunt confessions normally don’t take place over Starbucks counters.

“Got delayed for another semester. Maybe a whole fucking year if I don’t get my thesis together. And I failed a major.”

“…bruh,” is all Seungkwan could say, and it’s a very noncommital, _I’m sorry but I don’t know what I can do about it_ ‘bruh’ at that. He gets Seungcheol’s drink for him and tells him to stay by the counter so they could talk while Seungkwan entertains the campus basic bitches. “Is that it?”

“ _It_? Seungkwan, I _failed_ advanced experimental physics—”

“Who _wouldn’t_ fail advanced experimental physics?” Well, Seungkwan is on a repeat of calculus two after barely scraping by calculus one in his first semester as a freshman and spectacularly bombing calculus two the next semester. Seungcheol, at least, doesn’t react to Seungkwan’s little jab.

“I got a crush, too. A bad one,” Seungcheol adds, just a little more quietly, playing with the sleeve of his coffee cup.

Seungkwan makes another face, though quickly fixes it back into a smile when a customer approaches the counter. “How bad is it?” he asks after the customer leaves to get her iced soy chai latte at the next counter.

“He was my roommate,” Seungcheol says, stirring his coffee before replacing the cap and taking a sip. “And, like, he’s in law school now so he’s too busy to be goofing around with me.”

If Seungcheol failed his thesis, he shouldn’t be wasting his time with some stupid crush either. However, all Seungkwan could blurt out is, “You’re gay?”

Seungcheol matches his tone, keeping it dry enough for Seungkwan to roll his eyes. “Maybe?”

“No offense, but you kinda look like a ‘no homo’ kinda guy…” The next customer glares at Seungkwan for a bit just as Mingyu nudges him from the back. “Sorry,” he apologizes to the girl, “are you gonna have that here or…?”

“You’re really judgemental, you know that?” Seungcheol comments once the girl’s gone.

“I haven’t grown out of my ‘straight till proven otherwise’ phase so I’ll call you when I have,” Seungkwan deflects smoothly. “So what’s with your roommate? Or ex-roommate whatever?”

“He was a philosophy ma—” Seungkwan cuts him off with a stongly felt “ _Ew_ ”. Seungcheol glares. “You haven’t heard him quote Barthes.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “Uh, _excuse_ you, you haven’t heard Mrs. Collins quote Barthes.” He still wasn’t over his little crush on her either—‘I counter whatever “doesn't work” in love with the affirmation of what is worthwhile’ makes his heart squeeze to this day. It doesn’t help either that Mrs. Collins is married to the dean of the French Studies department and he hears the lilting sounds of perfect French while he prepares their matching grande cappuccinos (but not to the point that he’d voluntarily take French classes; Korean for beginners was the obvious route for an easy A).

There aren’t any customers left in line so Seungkwan moves to help make drinks. Seungcheol follows him from the other side, only the upper half of his face visible from behind the espresso machine. Realizing this, Seungcheol moves to the drinks counter and leans a little forward to watch Seungkwan tip espressos into coffee cups. “Who’s that?”

“I had her for world lit last year.”

“Your first intellectual crush?” Seungcheol snorts. “Cute.”

“My crush is still infinitely better than yours, Seungcheol Choi.” Because, at least, it doesn’t involve pining. Seungkwan is very anti-pining and very adamant about keeping it that way.

“But still, will you help me out with Jeonghan?” It’s entirely possible Seungcheol’s being serious, what with him looking like a kicked puppy, but this Starbucks across campus is always full of Seungcheol’s ilk.

“No.”

“But it’s just a minor thing!”

“Hello? You have a _thesis_ to work on? What even is your thesis about?” Being poor at time management is Seungkwan’s biggest problem. Hearing Seungcheol whine about romance on top of being delayed because of a bombed thesis merely adds to his list of stressors.

Seungcheol bites his lip. “Relativistic quantum models of atomic structures from particles to the atom…”

“And you _think_ you have _time_ to waste on some pretty boy—” Seungkwan interrupts before Seungcheol butts in as well.

“I just need you to, like, clear out the nice table when I bring Jeonghan here.” By clear out, he means _keep the freshmen out of there_. “I’ll even text you fifteen minutes before.”

“How polite.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes again. 

“Thanks.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Finally pleased with himself for saying that aloud, Seungkwan adds, “But, seriously, you’re forgetting something grossly important here.”

Seungcheol looks exasperated. “What?”

“What’s in it for me? Suppose I have a hand in getting you laid, do I just get a thank you or…?” Seungkwan fills a cup of soy latte with ice and calls out an order for Mattie. “Why don’t you teach me calculus and we can call it even?” he suggests. It’s not a bad deal considering how little effort it is on Seungkwan’s part, and all he needs is a C+ to keep him in the clear for next semester. What Seungkwan doesn’t get is why it’s taking too long for Seungcheol to consider it.

“Done.” In response, Seungkwan holds out his hand and asks for Seungcheol’s phone, swiftly putting in his number as well as a coffee cup emoji next to his name, and reminds Seungcheol to at least add his name to the text when he does send one. “Love you,” Seungcheol says when he gets his phone back, looking at the number with a soft smile. “I’m gonna go eat now. Have a nice night. Bye!” He waves Seungkwan, who couldn’t wish him luck for his meeting quickly enough, bye and rushes out the door.

Unfortunately for Seungkwan, his shift doesn’t end until eleven pm. He goes to the back with Mingyu, who was also done for the day, to change out of his work clothes, their lockers thankfully not adjacent to each other because of all the Axe spray Mingyu uses.

“You’re doing the wrong thing, man,” Mingyu tells him as he fixes his hair in front of the tiny mirror inside his locker. “You’ve liked him since last sem, right?”

“He doesn’t know that,” Seungkwan mutters, putting on a jacket since it was beginning to get cold out again. “You gonna get dinner?”

“Nah, my mom made me bring enough microwaveable food for a month.” It sounds like he’s complaining, but Mingyu is smiling widely.

Seungkwan sighs, “That sounds nice. You know, I’m still freaking out a bit about him coming out to me. Like, I had a bigger chance with him back when I thought he was straight.”

Mingyu closes his locker so he can pat Seungkwan on the shoulder. “Maybe that guy’ll turn him down,” he says, but Seungkwan shakes his head.

“Nah, I’d feel bad if that happens,” Seungkwan admits, though it does leave a bad taste in his mouth.

They leave Starbucks together but head home in opposite directions, waving each other bye under the glow of streetlights. Seungkwan tiptoes inside his dorm room, but it’s not like Hansol’s asleep; he flashes a peace sign to Seungkwan while nodding along to whatever music was playing in his headphones. Tonight’s dinner is instant ramen; Seungkwan finishes the whole thing in under three minutes, not including the time it took for the water to boil and to cook the noodles.

“Bad day?” Hansol asks, one side of headphone resting on the back of his ear instead.

“Weird day,” Seungkwan corrects after drinking the last of the soup. “What are you doing now?”

“I got readings for my lit class already,” Hansol groans, falling back on his bed, defeated.

“I thought you like your readings?” Seungkwan throws the empty cup of instant ramen and sits down on Hansol’s bed, leafing through the binder he’s got.

“This is creative nonfiction, a.k.a. the saddest shit you’ll ever read,” Hansol tells him patiently. “I just finished a story about a girl whose aunt in China drowned herself because she got raped. It took me a whole Drake album to get out of that slump. Yeah. So… weird day? Wanna talk about it?”

Seungkwan hesitates. Hansol and Seungkwan did everything together—enrollment, dropping off the other in their respective departments for consultations, lunch—in freshman year because Seungkwan had literally zero chill and freaked out about everything while Hansol had way too much chill. This is a new year, and Seungkwan would like to think that Seungcheol Choi hasn’t given him enough cause to lose his chill just yet.

Hansol sits up to rub Seungkwan’s shoulders then takes his readings back. “I’ll give you five minutes to tell me,” he says, not unkindly. There are, after all, 200 pages of readings he needs to finish before next weekend. Seungkwan one-ups him and tells him everything in one sentence:

“I kinda agreed to help Seungcheol Choi get a boyfriend by potentially risking my job at Starbucks in exchange for a C+ in calculus two but I still like him and I don’t know how to process this.”

Hansol could only mouth a soft “Wow”. “Okay, that’s—that’s something. Uh, we can process this together, if you want?” he offers. “Do you know the guy?”

Seungkwan nods. “Yeah, he came in with Seungcheol once last year, tall green tea latte with nonfat milk,” he says, pouting. Not that the order was anything memorable—it was just hard to forget a face (and hair) like Jeonghan’s.

“So… you don’t know enough about him to really make an informed judgement?”

“Yeah…” Seungkwan answers sadly. “He could be a total jerk to Seungcheol for all I know.” But he highly doubts it since good vibes are essential for keeping the peace inside closet-sized dorms like the one he’s staying in right now.

Hansol just pats him on the back, both an action of kindness and a signal to leave him alone; the five minutes are up. “Just think about it,” he advises. “If you really like him, you’d want him to be happy. If you don’t, then there’s really nothing stopping you from helping him out. Your math grade improves either way—win-win.”

Seungkwan’s afraid of that, really—the whole crush-turned-serious thing, not the possibility of him finally moving on from calculus. Sighing, he gets off Hansol’s bed and transfers to his own, preparing index cards and rereading old notes well into the next morning.

 

***

 

The next weeks are a steady transition from the state of mush summer left his brain in to the currently rusty but still functioning well enough kind of mindset Seungkwan needs to get through lab sessions without delay. It might take him another week to fully get back on track, but he’s missed the clockwork of going through slide after slide with the microscope, hands turning the adjustment knobs with ease. Calculus is the only problem… and being transferred to a higher-level Korean class, so it was goodbye to an easy A; the new Korean worksheets were some of the most complicated he’s seen in a while. He doesn’t even want to think about the calculus worksheets.

Work after class is surprisingly brainless, but in a good way where he only has to work on talking to the customers and asking them about their day. There are new products he has to get moving too, but his mind is mostly free to draft lab reports while punching in orders and making espressos. Smartphones are a godsend, enabling him to write down outlines during breaks so there’s less work waiting for him back at the dorm.

He gets a text from Seungcheol sometime in early October, catching him in the middle of waiting for a Frappuccino to blend. The text literally reads _Don’t forget your promise_ with Seungcheol’s name tacked on at the end, and Seungkwan, surprised at himself, has indeed forgotten all about it with Seungcheol getting his coffee when Seungkwan isn’t on his shifts and all his majors blurring together. Sighing, he drops off the finished drink at the drinks counter and heads back to the cashier, where he tells new customers to avoid the table by the window because there’s been a bug issue the whole day.

Seungcheol Choi, the fucking idiot, opens the door for Jeonghan and lets him go in first, placing a hand on Jeonghan’s back as they walk to the cashier together. “Hey, Seungkwan,” he says, smiling dumbly.

“Hi.” In comparison, Seungkwan sounds (a little, just a little, he hopes) more curt. “What’ll it be?”

“It’s Jeonghan’s birthday today,” Seungcheol says, gesturing at Jeonghan who gives Seungkwan a slight wave and a smile. He turns his head to face Jeonghan and goes, “You said you wanted cake pops, right?” Jeonghan laughs and swats Seungcheol’s shoulder.

“Happy birthday?” Seungkwan greets, then more smoothly, says, “If you got the Starbucks card, you get a free drink.”

Jeonghan hums. “I don’t know anymore. I’ll just get my usual?”

“What _is_ your usual?” It better not be that fucking skinny green tea latte. He didn’t even ask to remove the classic syrup with it last time, so asking for nonfat milk was moot.

“A green tea latte…” Well. Jeonghan looks through his wallet for his Starbucks card before handing it over to Seungkwan along with the specifics of his order. He’s definitely learned his lesson, Seungkwan’s noticed; he asked for no classic syrup mixed in the latte but honey on the side instead.

“I’ll pay for the birthday cake pops,” Seungcheol butts in.

“Cute. You guys together?” Seungkwan asks, keeping his voice light as he punches in Jeonghan’s order. When he looks up, Seungcheol’s got his arms around Jeonghan’s waist in a back hug. Jeonghan accepts the card sheepishly and with a slight blush as he places it in the front pocket of his jeans.

“We’re not,” Jeonghan tells him. Seungkwan only nods, taking Seungcheol’s order next then pointing at the table where they could sit. Seungcheol mouths Seungkwan a little ‘thanks’ and ushers Jeonghan to the table, rearranging the chairs so they’re seated next to each other.

Jihoon, the only other college student—person, really—on duty with him that night, scowls at the sight. “You’re fixing that later,” he tells Seungkwan, referring to the chairs Seungcheol so nicely messed up for him.

It’s dinnertime on a Sunday night, Seungkwan realizes while he impatiently waits for customers to distract him from the scene unfolding by the largest window in the place. Seungcheol’s feeding Jeonghan his fucking cake pops, pink icing against pink lips. 

Seungkwan’ll sweep the floor, descale the espresso machines, anything. Jihoon is more than happy to exchange jobs with Seungkwan, putting Seungkwan on toilet duty for the rest of his shift while Jihoon retreats to the back so he can work on a linguistics paper due the next morning.

When Seungkwan returns from toilet duty half an hour later, Seungcheol and Jeonghan are exchanging kisses, one of Jeonghan’s hands placed squarely on Seungcheol’s chest and the other running through Seungcheol’s hair. Seungkwan would have to clean up the toilet again if he continues to see more of it so he rushes to the back, assured of the fact that there are no customers right now. (They’ll come later once they’ve realized tomorrow is Monday and they have work left to do.)

“PDA out front,” Seungkwan warns Jihoon as he rubs his temples. Jihoon nods in acknowledgement, one ear occupied with his earphones.

They finally leave—shit-eating grin on Seungcheol’s face, a bright flush on Jeonghan’s cheeks—while Seungkwan’s wiping down the blender area. Jihoon reemerges from his cave and inspects everything Seungkwan cleaned, from the toilet to the espresso machines.

“Maybe Seungcheol Choi and his boyfriend need to come here more often,” he jokes, the lazy bastard satisfied with Seungkwan’s work for the day. Mingyu’s coming in for his shift with Seokmin so Seungkwan gets to untying his apron, scowling the entire time.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seungkwan grumbles and follows Jihoon to the back.

Jihoon turns on his heels and crosses his arms. Seungkwan doesn’t understand how foul of a mood he’s in until he realizes Jihoon’s not intimidating at all today. “Watch your fucking language, Boo,” he spits back but then invites him out for drinks with Soonyoung so they can all start midterms week/month/hell a little buzzed and happy.

“Not in the mood,” Seungkwan mumbles. He changes out of his work shirt and into a ratchet school shirt he bought last year. He’ll have to squeeze in laundry this week… and groceries, or Hansol will be pissed without his constant supply of Doritos and beer. (There was only one beer left in Hansol’s stash last night, which he used on his critical essay on Sei Shonagon’s _The Pillow Book_ , and Hansol wouldn’t entertain any of Seungkwan’s questions except the one where he offered to buy more beer.)

“You’re a sad fucker who’s failing math; you need a drink,” Jihoon reassures him—well, he’s not lying. Seungkwan lets himself be dragged to the convenience store where Soonyoung’s waiting for them, two six packs in hand, and they sit down by the entrance, popping open and knocking back their first cans with barely any conversation. It’s a little past midnight anyway; it’s better that they’re quiet. Seungkwan feels calm and a little warm—maybe beer was the secret to Hansol’s neverending chill and Seungkwan finally sees why—and he lets his chin rest on his propped up knees, staring hard at the asphalt and the look of his worn-down sneakers on it.

Jihoon, on the other hand, scolds Soonyoung, punching him on the shoulder while taking a swig of his beer, “You forgot snacks.”

“I’m broke as fuck,” Soonyoung complains as he rubs his shoulder. “Buy it yourself.”

“Fine, whatever.” Seungkwan feels Jihoon stand up and then hears the bell of the convenience store as Jihoon goes inside, coming back out ten minutes later with sad, but at least warm, hotdogs. The hotdog tastes good enough.

“So why’s the kid drinking with us?” Soonyoung asks, mouth full. “Did he crush on a regular?”

Seungkwan’s settled on staring straight ahead at whatever cars were still driving at this time, at small restaurants finally closing down for the night, at drunk passersby stumbling on the sidewalk, and lets Jihoon do all the explaining for him. Soonyoung passes him another beer to nurse while he and Jihoon talk and finish the rest, so if seniors are pitying him and buying him beer, Seungkwan’s coming off a lot more sad than he should be.

“Hey, Seungkwan, what was the favor Seungcheol promised you?”

“Huh?” Seungkwan faces both of them and shakes his head. “He was gonna teach me calculus…”

“Where’s your phone?” Jihoon asks, extending out his hand for Seungkwan to place his phone on. Seungkwan reaches into his back pocket for it and gives it to Jihoon, who plays with it for a while before handing it back to Seungkwan. He literally just opens the Messages app and composes a new text to Seungcheol, Seungkwan sees. There’s no message yet. “Call in on your favor and take advantage of the fucker,” Jihoon tells him, raising the fourth can of beer to his lips.

Seungkwan types in a text, but he has to keep backtracking to take care of typos, his thumbs not pressing where they should. Seungcheol, on the other hand, replies within minutes—despite it being one in the morning, despite Seungkwan’s rude as fuck text telling him his no longer virgin ass owes him—with a long list of breaks and addenda and exemptions. Together, they work out a fairly consistent schedule for meetings thrice a week and backup schedules on top of that. Surprisingly, long weekends were up for grabs.

“What the fuck,” Seungkwan mutters as he goes over the texts he and Seungcheol have exchanged in the past fifteen minutes. Jihoon and Soonyoung glance at him over their beers. “He’s too fucking eager.”

“Maybe they just fucked,” Jihoon quipped, “and he feels like indulging you.”

“Bite me,” Seungkwan grumbles. He finishes his second can, gulping half the can down in one go. All he wants to do right now is sleep the weekend off and skip his ten-thirty genetics lecture (which is, in effect, an introductory class, and they’ve only finished covering Mendelian inheritance last week, so it’s not like it was such a huge loss—the beginnings of non-Mendelian inheritance can fucking fight him for all he cares), but he wants to play nice and not let personal troubles get in the way.

Hansol is asleep by the time Seungkwan returns to his dorm, stumbling in at four am with a little more beer inside of him (that Soonyoung had offered to buy as long as Seungkwan paid for it). Seungkwan falls on his bed in a heap, bag uncomfortably digging into his back, and falls asleep like that.

He wakes up the next morning to an email announcing that his genetics lecture had been cancelled that day and that an additional class was already scheduled for next week. He has to read through it twice to make sure he wasn’t dreaming then goes back to sleep, waking up just in time for his Korean class at noon.

 

***

 

Seungcheol meets him that Tuesday at four pm by the fountain at the humanities department, where Seungkwan had left Hansol to consult his drama professor about a screenplay. Together, they walk a little bit further to the in-campus coffee shop that wasn’t as good as the Starbucks or as well-lit as the libraries but had bigger tables and encouraged more roughhousing than either Starbucks or any of the libraries would allow. The notes and textbook Seungkwan hands over to Seungcheol as reference are kinda sad—question marks on the margins, little doodles of drowning stick figures, a caricature of Squidward on the cover of one of his notebooks.

“Where are you now?” Seungcheol asks. He’s all serious business today, glasses and all, and Seungkwan finds it hard to think, let alone think about calculus. “Integration?” Seungkwan nods. “So I’m assuming you understand derivatives.”

“…ish.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol drawls out. “Integration isn’t too bad—basic shit, I mean. Like, you remember functions, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, let’s say you a have a composite function f of g of x—Can I borrow some paper?” Seungkwan hands him a clean sheet and Seungcheol immediately writes _f(g(x))_ on the upper left corner, pointing at it as he says, “Think of your g as an inverse function of f”—he writes an equal sign underneath the first function and then another composite function, replacing the g(x) with f -1 (x)—“so, like, you know that when you have a function f of x and you substitute x with its inverse, you just get… x. Integrals are kinda like inverse functions that way.”

Seungkwan just stares.

“Let’s try integrating x-squared,” Seungcheol suggests. He writes a big x 2 on the paper then the integral sign ∫ next to it. “If you integrate that, it’s gonna become x-cubed over three. So differentiating x-cubed over three…”

“The x-cubed becomes three-x-squared,” Seungkwan says because he knows that much, at least. As he watches Seungcheol write down the notation for him, he blurts out, “Ohhhh,” then goes, “That’s it?” making Seungcheol laugh.

“Yeah, it’s really just that, but memorizing everything’s a bitch. We can just go over some longer problems for now.” They flip open the heavy textbook together, with Seungcheol encircling the numbers he wants Seungkwan to answer. 

The table falls silent—Seungkwan’s scratching out answers on different sheets of paper while Seungcheol brings out his laptop to do some reading and the silence is oddly comforting, bordering on domestic. Seungcheol sneaks out to grab a quick smoke and comes back reeking of cologne; Seungkwan wrinkles his nose but doesn’t say anything.

“Wanna take a break?” Seungcheol offers.

Seungkwan quickly caps his pen and pushes the papers away. “ _Please_.” They both order hot tea, Seungkwan blowing across the surface of his while Seungcheol checks his answers.

“Not bad,” Seungcheol assesses.

“Thanks.”

“Wanna try a harder set?”

“Not tonight.” They have a good fifteen to twenty minutes left, so Seungkwan takes this moment to ask, “So… how’d you and Jeonghan happen so quickly?”

“Uh…” For once, Seungcheol looks embarrassed. “I confessed last Sunday at Starbucks, which was why I wanted a nice place, you know? To set the mood and shit. I think it worked ‘cause he said he wanted to try it— _us_ —out…” He has a soft, almost goofy smile on his face, and, as it soon turns out, Seungkwan doesn’t want to hit him for it. “Yeah, shit did happen quickly…”

Seungkwan snorts. “You think? We’re gonna ban you if you do that again,” he warns.

“Sorry,” Seungcheol apologizes, raises his hands up. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”

Seungkwan pats him on the shoulder. “It’s fine, but I kinda liked you more when you were being a whiny shit,” Seungkwan teases. Not that he particularly enjoyed Seungcheol’s presence that day at Starbucks with all his issues, but _I’m happy you’re happy_ makes Seungkwan feel like a fucking idiot and right now, only calculus should make him feel that way. As it is, he just wants last semester’s stasis back. They could go back to Seungkwan messing with Seungcheol’s order and leaving all those little notes on the cup.

The next sessions progress a little better. Seungkwan gets a C+ on his next long exam and breaks down into tears in the lecture hall because he can’t remember the last time he had a math grade that high; Seungcheol finally gets somewhere with his thesis, to the point that he cancels on Seungkwan for an entire week so he could focus on it.

“You can handle this next lesson, right?”

“Yes, Seungcheol Choi, the washer method isn’t rocket science.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Seungcheol promises, and Seungkwan thinks—hopes?—Seungcheol looks forward to their study sessions together as much as he does (not just because he’s finally getting somewhere with calculus, but he really does like listening to Seungcheol’s updates about him and Jeonghan, especially all the ridiculous sexploits like the one by the fire escape in the law school; they’re objectively funny and entertaining).

“You better,” Seungkwan threatens, then hangs up.

(Hansol drops a copy of _A Lover’s Discourse_ on Seungkwan’s stomach. It’s tattered and dog-eared and highlighted on but Hansol says he’s done with it. Seungkwan’s chest threatens to cave in when he flips through some of the passages.)

 

***

 

The following week, Seungcheol catches Seungkwan on a break and follows him out to the side of the Starbucks where the employees enter, cigarette already placed between his lips. Seungkwan looks up at him from his phone and stares as Seungcheol lights it, at his cheekbones, at how long his eyelashes look when he’s looking down like that.

“Does this gross you out?” Seungcheol asks, smoke coming out of his mouth in puffs. Seungkwan shakes his head. “I thought it did, since you’re staring.” So Seungcheol’s caught him. Seungkwan flushes red, but at least he can blame the cold weather for it, for biting at the tops of his ears. “Want some?” he asks, holding out the cigarette held between two fingers.

Fingers—Seungkwan Boo doesn’t know how to deal with fingers, even Seungcheol’s short ones. _Fuck it._ He crosses the space between them in that alley and takes the hand holding Seungcheol’s cigarette by the wrist and directs it to his mouth so that Seungcheol’s fingers rest on Seungkwan's lips and the smell of smoke fills his nose.

“Breathe deeply,” Seungcheol instructs and Seungkwan does, sucking in a drag without puffing out his cheeks. “Then breathe through your nose… Make sure you feel it go down.” The smoke is harsh against his throat. Seungcheol moves a little closer and removes his hand from Seungkwan’s hold, resting the palm of his hand instead on Seungkwan’s cheek, unbearably warm even in late November. “Exhale.”

Seungkwan lets out a shaky breath, tries his best not to splutter though his eyes are watering.

“Good job,” Seungcheol says before taking in a drag himself and Seungkwan likes to think they just shared a kiss through his fingers; next time he wants to steal a kiss while Seungcheol’s mouth is still full of smoke. “You going home for Thanksgiving break?”

“I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”

“Me neither.”

“Wanna… not celebrate it together?”

“Where’s boyfriend number one?” Seungkwan falls into the space beside Seungcheol and leans his back against the wall, crosses his arms.

Seungcheol flicks the ashes off his cigarette and, before returning it to his lips, says, “We’re… cool,” with a shrug.

“Hey, you’re both busy, it’s fine.”

“Is it? What if he’s bored with me?” It occurs to Seungkwan that Seungcheol Choi is in constant need of validation, chasing it like a puppy. Seungcheol flicks the cigarette butt to the ground and crushes it with the his boot. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits quietly. “Like, I want to _not_ worry about it, but it’s _there_ , and I have issues with letting things go; I get _clingy_.”

“You have issues, period,” Seungkwan tells him. “If you keep thinking about it like this, it means you love him more than he loves you. Not that it’s necessarily a bad thing but… you know, relationship imbalances will always make you feel shitty.” Seungcheol looks at him as if he’s seeing him for the first time. Seungkwan continues, “And sighing doesn’t bring him back. It just, like, emphasizes his distance.”

“Where’d you get that?” Seungcheol asks.

“You think your boyfriend is the only one who can read Barthes?” Seungkwan counters, making Seungcheol laugh.

“You’re full of surprises, Seungkwan Boo.”

Seungkwan preens. “I know.”

And it must have worked somehow. Thanksgiving break comes and Seungkwan spends the day itself with his co-workers, all working extra shifts to get a little more money. Black Friday is another slice of hell entirely—a few of the discounted mugs shatter, there are more drink complaints than usual, Seungcheol hogs the area by the window again just so he can rub his thumb over Jeonghan’s knuckles and place kisses on Jeonghan’s palm. Seungkwan’s been in the cafe since seven in the morning; it’s currently four in the afternoon; some bitch said her caramel macchiato’s too sweet. Even Jihoon’s telling him to go home (and Jihoon had done the all-nighter shift), so Seungkwan waits for Seokmin, who was better at handling chaoses, to arrive and practically throws his apron at Seokmin’s face once he arrives from the back.

(Hansol doesn’t suggest that Seungkwan start smoking, which is a good thing because Seungkwan only wants the taste of it if it comes from Seungcheol’s mouth—he just says, “I’m gonna give you the basic bitch poetry starter pack,” and sends Seungkwan a digital copy of Richard Siken’s _Crush_.

“Since you’re so sad lately,” Hansol adds, putting a Dorito chip in his mouth, “and I hope you can be less sad.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Seungkwan says, absentmindedly scrolling through the book. “I want to tell him.”

“You can always be vague about it.”)

December is a blur, the entire campus speeding up in preparation for winter break. The week before finals is an academic vacuum—last-minute long exams, extra lab hours, papers to finish. Seungcheol’s not going to graduate this semester, but he’s no longer moaning about it, instead making plans to do further studies abroad because his thesis adviser is more than willing to help him out.

“Japan, maybe,” Seungcheol tells him on their last calculus session. Seungkwan’s gonna finish calculus with a B, and he’s over the damn moon.

“You can speak Japanese?”

“Nah, I took German.”

Seungkwan punches him on the shoulder. “Your priorities are all over the damn place,” he grouses, though his stomach feels ready to drop to the floor. Now they’re talking _plans_ , plans for the _future_ : Jeonghan’s got an internship in the firm of one of his professors, Seungkwan has to decide on his track soon, Seungcheol wants to leave. “But what about him? Is he okay with it?”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows knit together. “Why wouldn’t he be okay with it?” he asks, making Seungkwan shake his head.

“You’ll be surprised,” Seungkwan replies. “People are a lot more selfish than you give them credit for. Speaking of, I never said thanks for all the help—”

Seungcheol interrupts, “It’s nothing. We’re friends now, anyway, and, like, all my friends graduated last year…” They fall silent. Seungcheol wishes him good luck on his calculus final. Seungkwan jokes about seeing him after the new year.

“Hey,” Seungkwan says as they exit the coffee shop and ready themselves for their last round of goodbyes, “ I need to tell you something.” Seungkwan is very anti-pining and very adamant about keeping it that way. “I…”

“Do I want to hear this?” Seungcheol says. He has a small smile on his face—patient, maybe knowing, definitely a little regretful. “I think I know where this is going.” It makes Seungkwan shut up. Maybe he’ll even vomit because he was _so_ ready to say it— “Will you say it anyway?” Seungcheol requests.

“I like you,” Seungkwan says, voice steady for someone whose knees were ready to give just fifteen seconds prior.

“Is it too much to ask why?”

“I don’t owe you any fucking explanations,” Seungkwan snapped, making Seungcheol close his mouth.

After a pause, Seungcheol pipes up, “Since when?” He looks a bit sad now, twiddling his thumbs (or he would, if his fists weren’t thrust deep into the pocket of his hoodie). The scene reminds Seungkwan of that day by the Starbucks back entrance, except the tension feels like it’s coming from an outside source.

Seungkwan’s debated about whether or not he should be honest. “Last semester,” he answers. He doesn’t know when, just knew he wanted to get into Seungcheol’s pants before he cared about how well Seungcheol was taking care of himself.

The realization hits Seungcheol and he looks at Seungkwan like he’s been doused in cold water. “So—”

“Yeah.”

“But—” Seungcheol’s chewing on his lip now, making it nice and red and tender, and Seungkwan almost feels bad for noticing.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol offers.

Seungkwan wants to tell him _, Don’t tell me you’re sorry. You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that, and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy but tell me you love this, tell me you’re not miserable._ The Siken line comes unannounced; he realizes he relies too much on Hansol and his fucked up literature to articulate his feelings. Also, he can’t believe he memorized lines from a poem. Instead, he settles for “Me too,” and hopes that it sounds decent enough—his vision’s blurring, something’s stuck in his throat. He swallows it down and clears his throat so he could add, “So… see you after break?”

“Yeah.” Seungcheol removes his hands from his hoodie and leans in, cupping Seungkwan’s face and kissing him on the cheek. His chapped lips are rough on Seungkwan’s skin. He lets go and waves at Seungkwan. “Bye. Have a nice break.”

Seungkwan makes it a point to tell himself to save the crying for after finals are over. He barely makes it to his dorm before breaking down into sobs next to Hansol.

 

***

 

The staff at Starbucks expect Seungkwan to show up work at least three days before classes resume. He flies back from Korea some time before then to clear the dorm of dust then dives right into work, though there’s not much work to do with the university still on break.

Seungcheol shows up at Starbucks on the Thursday before classes resume, just an hour before Seungkwan’s shift is over. He orders two tall brewed coffees and then slides one of the cups towards Seungkwan, who takes it with his eyebrow raised.

“Uh… I work here?” Seungkwan fiddles with the cover of the coffee. There’s no note this time.

“Drink up,” Seungcheol tells him. “We’re going drinking after this.”

“Any particular reason why?” He almost dreads to know the answer.

Seungcheol just grins at him. “I feel great.” He loiters around the coffee shop, picking up mugs and asking Seungkwan how much each costs, propping his feet up on the tables. He’s buzzing with energy, going around and around because he’s the only person other than Seungkwan in the room and he realizes he _can_ make a mess. At some point, he joins Seungkwan behind the counter, jumping over the barrier. Seungkwan shoves him back out, complaining he’ll get fired, before any of his co-workers show up, then lets him back in—there’s no coffee to be made (read: for Seungcheol Choi to fuck up) anyway. He’s tempted to ask if Seungcheol’s taken anything, but he also knows that most of his connects are off partying in New England.

The bar Seungcheol brings him to is new though the interior is trying too hard to be hipster and dingy. Early 2000s hits are playing and _everyone_ is singing along to ‘Oops!… I Did It Again’. It could be worse, maybe. At least Seungcheol pays for the drinks (but only because Seungkwan won’t be 21 for another week or so and he was definitely the type to get ID’d). He returns with three beers, holding them by the neck, and puts them down on the wooden table where the condensation’s already beginning to form rings, already taking a long drink from one of them.

Seungkwan points at the other two and asks, “Who’s the other one for?”

“That? It’s mine.” Okay. Seungkwan nurses his bottle, only finishing it when Seungcheol’s finished both of his and buys three more. “Hey, you’re not drinking,” Seungcheol grouses.

“I’m pacing myself,” Seungkwan corrects him. Seungcheol asks him about what he did over break and tells Seungkwan his own stories—going around Southeast Asia, eating (extra) happy pizza in Cambodia, walking around Da Nang at night waiting for sunrise, sunrise at the beach—and they’re all a little wilder than the one before it that Seungkwan nearly misses that he hasn’t said a word about Jeonghan. Not that he wants to ask Seungcheol about it, but it does feel like they’ve made a nonverbal agreement to not talk about him, like Seungcheol’s trying to make up for it.

Seungkwan goes, “You’re just bragging about your break now, you rich fucker.” He raises his arm to have the table cleared and orders nachos. “Where’d you even get the money to go on a trip like that?”

“I don’t know… I slept in a lot of sketchy places, and, like, the food’s cheap if you eat in the small stalls. Better, too,” Seungcheol explains, scratching his head, “but the flights are killer.” Seungkwan nods, the action feeling like he’s dragging his head through water, and he wants— _needs_ —those damn nachos right now.

Later, Seungcheol is dragging him to the toilets, to the inside of one of the cubicles before locking the door behind them and pressing himself flush against Seungkwan, his breath hot against Seungkwan’s cheek. He smells strongly of beer, too, and Seungkwan would have wrinkled his nose if he could even feel it on his face.

“I forgot to tell you something,” Seungcheol slurs, but Seungkwan stops him.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Seungkwan says, breathless, hand reaching up to guide Seungcheol’s head so that Seungkwan can kiss him easily. Their mouths don’t quite fit right at first (Seungcheol gets slobbery for a while) and it takes a lot of kissing for them to find a rhythm that works, teeth clashing at certain points. The wall of the cubicle is cold pressed against Seungkwan’s back, but it quickly warms up from the way they’re grinding at each other. Seungcheol’s neck is slick with sweat that Seungkwan laps up with his tongue before sucking on his skin. He wants to leave a mark, wants to make it last, so he sucks a little harder. Seungcheol lets his head fall back, baring his neck under the fluorescent lighting, and groans, the sound of it mixing with the music coming from the speakers installed in the toilet and it’s just then that it occurs to Seungkwan that they’re making out to fucking ‘Crazy In Love’. He lets go of Seungcheol’s neck so he can laugh about it a bit, and Seungcheol laughs too, his pink, swollen lips spread out into a smile, then his head lowers to rest on Seungcheol’s shoulder. They stay like that for a while, breathing heavily to the point that they begin to breathe in sync, chests heaving together. One of Seungcheol’s hands is even resting on Seungkwan’s heart; Seungkwan covers it with his own.

“What are we doing?” Seungkwan asks the ceiling quietly, head spinning.

They go home together, Seungcheol falling asleep on top of Seungkwan after a somewhat heated debate about who ends up on the couch. They both end up on the bed anyway—Seungkwan getting pushed on it by an aggressively hospitable Seungcheol and Seungcheol lying down because he can’t feel his legs anymore. That’s how they wake up, the hickey on Seungcheol’s neck intensely purple from the bright afternoon sun glaring through the windows.

Seungkwan doesn’t know how to proceed from there, if they can proceed at all. Seungcheol goes to Starbucks as usual and lets Seungkwan mess up his drink for the first time in what feels like ages (because Seungkwan couldn’t stand to see him order a pumpkin spice latte and had to force him to change it to a peppermint mocha), but he doesn’t do anything about the hickey. It’s tacky and glaring, and Seungkwan panics. There are students rushing in, tired from having to haul ass cross-country, and he hopes none of them are Jeonghan.

“Rough night?” Seungkwan asks, pointing at the offending hickey.

Seungcheol grins. “I just woke up with it last Friday,” he explains.

“Ooh, your boyfriend’s not gonna like it,” Seungkwan teases. His heart is going to propel out of his chest at this rate.

“My boyfriend gave it to me,” Seungcheol tells him with a shrug, hand reaching up to give it a touch. _What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—_ “How are your classes this semester?”

“I—They’re okay. Mostly molecular bio classes…” Seungkwan answers and they continue talking like that for a bit, Seungcheol hogging the drinks counter, body stretched almost entirely over the whole thing, while Seungkwan makes drinks. He thinks that right now is one of those moments that need better articulation, but he suspects he won’t get it from Seungcheol Choi. Good thing Hansol is coming in a little later.

(Hansol tells him he’s the side hoe, which doesn’t make Seungkwan feel good in the least.)

January sixteenth comes and it’s fairly late in the day when Seungkwan does remember about it. He goes to the convenience store with Mingyu after work so they can knock back a few beers in the silence of Mingyu’s car. The window by Mingyu’s seat is rolled down so he can smoke, but the wind carries it back inside the car anyway.

“Can I bum one?” Seungkwan asks, pointing at the box on Mingyu’s lap.

“This is new,” Mingyu says to him, but he hands Seungkwan the box as well as his lighter. “You never told us.”

Seungkwan lights it, remembering to breathe deeply as the lighter’s flame burns through the tip of the cigarette. “Just tonight,” he promises, more to himself than to his co-worker. He wishes he could have told his younger self not to quit glee club so he can snag that job at Starbucks. The taste of the cigarette got tiring eventually, so he just watches it burn down to the tipping paper before tossing it out the window.

Mingyu shakes his head. “Should’ve gotten you weed from Wonwoo,” he mutters.

 

***

 

Seungcheol is at the library of the sciences department. Seungkwan notices him before Seungcheol could do the same and rushes to the biology shelves, glad for the carpeted floors. Jeonghan’s with Seungcheol, who sneaks a kiss before returning to his books, piling them one at a time on Jeonghan’s arms.

(The next time he and Seungcheol kiss, it’s at the back entrance of Starbucks. Seungcheol breathes smoke into his mouth then pulls away just as quickly to take another drag.)

Someone taps him on the shoulder at the photocopying section, making Seungkwan nearly jump from his place.

“Hey,” Seungcheol greets him, leaning against the wall in front of Seungkwan.

“Hi.”

“Can we talk?”

“Not now,” Seungkwan deadpans, gesturing at the readings he has to make copies of.

“Let’s meet later at the usual?”

There are far too many places that feel like they could their usual—the coffee shop in campus, the stupid hipster bar—but Seungkwan settles for Starbucks, entirely foregoing the front entrance for the one at the side, where Seungcheol indeed waited for him. (He doesn’t want to imagine what it would be like had he misinterpreted anything because right now, he thinks they match perfectly.)

Seungkwan crosses his arms. “Talk,” he says, wanting to lean on the opposite wall but not wanting this to be a shouting match either. He just stands awkwardly in front of Seungcheol, who was standing too, both hands kept in the pockets of his coat.

“What do you want to do about us?” Seungcheol asks.

“Me?” blurts out Seungkwan. “This depends on you, to be honest. You need to tell me how you feel about me.” Maybe it’s the cold, maybe it’s how softly they’re both speaking, but he feels that they’ve inched closer to each other because their toes just bumped against the other’s; their closeness registers and Seungcheol makes moves to step backwards but Seungkwan pulls out a hand to stop him.

“I”—Seungcheol looks at Seungkwan’s hand on his arm—“want this. I want this, but…”

“Yeah,” Seungkwan sighs, “I get it. So him? How do you feel about him?”

“You said something about sighing when he leaves,” Seungcheol says, biting his lip, “and, like, lately I’ve been feeling like if he leaves, I won’t look for him, but don’t get me wrong—it’s great when we’re together… Everything’s just so fucking peachy, but when we’re not, like, with each other?”

_You don’t look for each other?_ Seungkwan wants to fill in the blanks in Seungcheol’s thoughts so badly, but he stops himself. “When did you start feeling this way?”

“Break.” Ah.

“It sounds like…” Seungkwan twists his mouth so he can find the words, makes gestures with his hands just so he can look at the way his hands move instead of at Seungcheol. “It’s like you’re just looking for someone more… present. Or, like, constant. I get it, you want an easier relationship or something. We all want the easier option—”

“Do you think I’m a shit person?” Seungcheol whispers as he takes one of Seungkwan’s hands in his, but Seungkwan doesn’t let him. 

At least Seungkwan’s smiling. “No, I don’t think so,” he answers, and it honestly feels like he’s confessing again. “You may be a shit boyfriend, though.”

Seungcheol smiles at that too. “I should fix that,” he says. “Might take a while.” He makes an attempt to hold Seungkwan’s hand again, and this time, Seungkwan lets him. He laces their fingers together and raises their joined hands so he can kiss Seungkwan’s fingers. 

Seungkwan tells him, “I’m a patient guy,” and draws himself ever so closer to Seungcheol for a kiss, his free hand reaching up to run though Seungcheol’s hair.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologise for this hahaha


End file.
